Faceless (42 page)

She heard him laughing.

He released her hair and she sprang away from him as if she had been scalded.

He gave her a hard look then said, ‘Open your bag.’

She was clutching it to her chest now, her eyes straying to the hammer on the back seat.

‘What for?’

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He opened her coat and ripped open the flimsy top she was wearing so her breasts were free. Then he pinched one nipple as hard as he could. She squealed out loud and he laughed once more.

‘Open the fucking bag or I’ll burn them off.’

He had a silver Marlboro Man lighter on the dashboard. He flipped the top and put the flame close to her body. She opened the bag, her hands shaking with terror.

He looked inside and whistled.

‘That’s a lot of money for an ugly bastard like you. No one in their right mind would pay you, love. Where did you get it?’

Carole was mortified that her hard-earned blood money was now lost to her. She knew she was going to be robbed, raped, and possibly murdered. And it rankled all the more because finally she had got herself a little stake and now it meant nothing. Marie used to say, What goes around comes around. Carole was finally finding out how true that expression could be. But she wasn’t going to give up the money without a fight. Her life was worthless, but money made it bearable for a while.

‘It’s me pimp’s. Right hard bastard he is …’

The man interrupted her.

‘Shut the fuck up, you stupid whore! Is that supposed to frighten me or something?’

He took the money from the bag and placed it on the dashboard of the car.

‘Now strip off. I want to look at you.’

‘Pardon?’

Her voice held amazement. He really was going to rape her. She looked around once more. She was in the middle of nowhere with a maniac. Like Tiffany Carter was stuck somewhere with a maniac called Patrick Connor.

‘Hurry up, for fuck’s sake. I have the urge to have a bit of fun with you again. So do what you’re told and don’t annoy me.’

His face was clearly visible in the light and she had a good look at him. It occurred to her then that he wasn’t worried about her seeing him in all his smelly glory which meant only one thing: she wouldn’t be around long to give a description.

She did as she was told. It was going to be one hell of a long night, but she had guessed that much already.

Verbena was mortified at what she had done. She could not believe that her son was crying in his bedroom and she was the cause of his

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distress. Her husband’s face told her all she needed to know about his feelings. Her own anger had finally evaporated when she had tried to comfort Jason and he had pushed her forcibly away. The look of disgust on his face had been almost as strong as a physical blow in its intensity. He had never looked at her like that, ever. It was strange to see him without a smile on his handsome face.

She remembered the night they had brought him home, a dear little boy, undernourished and so painfully eager to do what was wanted of him. His reaction to the toys they had supplied him with. The expression on his face at the sight of his bedroom, with its gaily painted cupboards and own little bathroom. He had been just three years old but with a world of experience behind him already.

His voice as he had thanked her for everything … He had had good manners, she had been amazed by that at the time. He rarely mentioned his mother after the first week and Verbena had hoped that was how it would always be. Marie Carter’s life sentence had made it seem possible and she had been pleased by the verdict, though she had never spoken her thoughts out loud. To Ossie she’d expressed sadness at the other woman’s plight, but deep inside she had been euphoric. The little boy would cement them together and give her something to do with her days, she’d believed. He had been perfect for her. No nappies to contend with, added to the fact he was always trying to please them, made him perfect in her eyes. Ossie adored him as much as she did. He did all the boyish things, playing football with Jason, wrestling with him. She had provided the child with gentler amusements, drawing, painting and Play-dough. It had been idyllic, just the three of them, Marie Carter firmly in the background. Locked away from her son and unable to mar their happiness in any way.

Until now, of course.

Her own jealousy had astounded Verbena. She had been unable to control it, seeing the woman she was supposed to pity looking so good. Seeing her own husband turn his face from hers towards Marie’s had made her so incensed she had wanted to lash out, hurt the other woman in some way.

Exactly like Christine Wallace, with her power suits and her red lips. Ossie might not have been having an affair but Verbena was not going to risk anything developing. She had chased that rival off and she would do the same with Marie Carter, who wanted not only her husband but her son as well.

She was finding it difficult to breathe again. Could feel the swell

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of her anger surging through her body and tried desperately to quash it.

She had done enough for one night.

More than enough.

She had to mend a few fences here before she could concentrate on that bitch. She would be humble to her two men if necessary, make them sorry for her by the time she was finished, and if nothing else had come out of tonight she had at least made sure Marie Carter knew she was not welcome in this house.

And never would be.

The dismay she’d felt as she had watched her son try and endear himself to a woman who had the social graces of a psychiatric patient on day release was palpable. Inside she had felt the rage building up until finally she could not help but unleash it.

Yet, she was the bad person. She was the one who was in the wrong. She was the scapegoat for everyone. That is what hurt. But she was shrewd and she knew exactly how to get herself out of the mess she was now in.

She would just make a point of apologising and looking forlorn and sorry for herself and for what she had done. She knew how to play that bitch back at her own game. A double murderer, sitting looking like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. It was laughable the way her husband and son could be so gullible. But then men were gullible where a pretty face or big breasts were concerned. Marie Carter had proved that tonight with her very presence.

She felt someone behind her and turned to see her husband in the doorway. Verbena looked devastated, her face ravaged by tears, eyes swollen as if she had an allergy of some sort.

‘I am so sorry, Ossie.’ Even her voice sounded broken, as if she was running out of energy. He stared at her for long moments, the anger he felt still-evident from the stony glint in his eye.

It occurred to her that this was going to take a little longer than she had anticipated. She began to cry again, heart-wrenching little sobs that were usually guaranteed to sway her husband even when he was as angry as he was now.

But not tonight. Ossie had had enough of her and it was clear from his voice as he said coldly, ‘It won’t work, Verbena, not this time. All the tears in the world wouldn’t be enough this time.’

‘I am so sorry, Ossie. Please believe me when I tell you that.’ She was crying harder now as she sobbed out, ‘How is my boy? How is my baby?’

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Ossie didn’t answer her for a while. He seemed to be trying to control his temper and this fact alone frightened Verbena. Oswald was a good man, a very good man. He had been her rock all her married life. Her biggest fear was of losing him. She would rather he was dead than with another woman, that was how strong her feelings for this man were.

‘Your baby, as you put it, is upset and embarrassed. Embarrassed that you could have humiliated him, yourself and me so badly in front of his birth mother. And it doesn’t matter what you say or do, she is still the woman who bore him. Not you. We were lucky enough to be given the opportunity to take that boy into our home and our lives. Our opportunity came through another poor woman’s misfortune, and if you can’t be grateful to her for that much then you are even more selfish and egotistical than I thought.’

His words were meant to hurt her and he felt a moment of petty euphoria as he saw just how badly he had wounded her. Her face was white now, pinched and closed. This was the real Verbena, not the cringing little mouse she was trying so hard to portray. He had sussed her out a long time ago but had indulged her because he loved her. So far her insecurities had made him protective of her. Now he realised that all he had done was feed her fantasies. She wanted to keep him pinned by her side and would do the same with the boy if he didn’t do something now.

‘You’d better leave him for the time being, Verbena. He doesn’t want to see you or talk to you.’

She bristled with rage and denial, walking briskly towards the door to go in search of Jason, but Ossie blocked the doorway with his big frame.

‘Out of my way! I want to see my son!’

Her natural belligerence was back now. She would not be told how to behave with her own child. Who did this man think he was?

Oswald shook his head slowly.

‘You heard me, woman. I said, leave him alone! He needs to be by himself for a while. Haven’t you done enough tonight already?’

Verbena confronted her husband and completely lost control. Her face was almost unrecognisable from the force of her emotions, the jealousy and rage twisting her outside and in.

‘Oh, I see. You and him against me, as per usual. Is that it?’ She laughed nastily, her head thrown back dramatically. ‘She was even better than I thought then. She has you eating out of her hand

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already. Taking her to lunch, are you? Like that Wallace woman. Will Jason be going as well or will it just be the two of you? Nice and cosy, like.’

Ossie was amazed at the way she twisted everything to make herself appear the victim.

‘You are mad, woman, bloody mad.’

She smiled at him.

‘Of course I am. It’s always me, isn’t it? I’m the one who is wrong. Who imagines everything. Who makes life so difficult for you. Well, it won’t work this time, Ossie. I will take that boy and leave if necessary.’

He said gently, ‘That boy. Verbena, wouldn’t cross the road to speak to you if you were being mugged. You have gone too far and the sooner you realise that the better. So keep away from him tonight, he doesn’t want to see you.’

‘I’m his mother …’

He had had enough of those words. She repeated them constantly, like a mantra.

‘Who are you trying to convince? Him or me? Or is it yourself, because you’re his mother only if he lets you be. Even real parents find that out, lady. If you want to walk out, go. Verbena. Just go. But the boy stays here with me.’

Her hand was out and she had slapped his face before she’d even realised what she was doing. That was when they realised Jason had heard the whole exchange. He was in the hallway listening to everything they had said. Verbena nearly fainted when she heard his voice.

‘Don’t you dare hit my dad like that! I hope you do leave. I hope you go away and leave us alone!’

‘Jason … please. Listen to me.’

He shook his head sadly.

‘Leave me alone. Mum. You had no right to do what you did to me, my dad or my real mum. She was trying her hardest to be accepted by us all. And I liked her, I liked her a lot. If nothing else she has good manners. You’ve always set such store by that yet it seems it’s something you lack yourself if tonight’s anything to go by. In future I’ll meet her away from the house where you can’t interfere. But I will see her, and my sister, and my niece. Whatever you might think or say about it.’

He walked back up the stairs and Ossie thought that the boy had handled himself admirably. Verbena had needed to be put firmly in

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her place by her child, and it seemed the boy had done it without even raising his voice.

He felt a moment’s pity for the crushed woman before him, but he stifled it. She had needed a wake-up call and now she’d had one. It was up to her from now on.

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Chapter Twenty-One

How do you think it went, Marie?’

She didn’t answer.

‘Come on. You must have some thoughts about it?’

‘I think he liked me - Jason. He seemed pleased that I was there. I only wish I could say the same for Verbena.’

Marie gave her usual little shrug.

‘She was like a maniac. Honestly, she reminded me of a woman I was banged up with - all that suppressed anger. You could feel it off her, you know.’

Amanda smiled.

‘I understand from Mr Melrose that you handled the situation very well. His wife, I hear, can be unstable.’

Marie sighed, her eyes sad, and Amanda Stirling once again marvelled at a woman who really didn’t understand the effect she had on other people. Marie Carter was a woman either loved or hated by her contemporaries. It seemed Verbena Melrose had chosen to hate her.

Amanda also knew that if Mr Melrose had not rung and explained what had happened then she would never have heard about it. He had obviously been concerned how Marie would cope after her visit, and that was a good sign. The boy had taken to her, by all accounts, and that again was good.

‘Tiffany is still on the missing list, as you know.’

Marie didn’t answer her.

‘Her daughter was supposed to go to the Melroses. I can’t see that happening now, can you?’

Marie shook her head.

‘Another thing to blame me for. Tiffany will blame me for it all.’

‘At the moment I understand Anastasia is with foster parents in Bow. I can ask for a visiting order for you, if you like? After all, you are the grandparent. You could see her - I can’t see any reason why they wouldn’t allow it.’

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‘The fact I’m a double lifer will go against me …’

Amanda held up her hand for silence.

‘Excuse me, but even paedophiles have access to their children. Tiffany is off the scene, and you are now a fully functioning member of society. You have to remember that, Marie. You have paid for your crimes and now have a clean slate. What you do with your future is completely up to you. I can officially recommend allowing you visiting rights to the child as her relation. You are seeing your son, why not your granddaughter? Jason has requested to see her as well, and while family members are involved with her it stops any moves to put her up for adoption. It will give Tiffany more time to sort herself out, too. I understand she was a good parent until she hit the crack.’